


The View from the Tower

by Laetitia_Laetitii



Series: Aileen Westbrook [9]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Gen, Morytania, Myreque, Post-Quest, Vampyres, questfic, vyres
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 21:44:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7548298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laetitia_Laetitii/pseuds/Laetitia_Laetitii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of River of Blood, Aileen and Veliaf Hurtz have a small talk at the roof of Castle Drakan. Contains my headcanon backstory for Veliaf, as well as some speculation about Morytania's future. I hate the title.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The View from the Tower

                As Bennath turned to Raktuber, the ice finally melted from the fens of the Myre. The dark clouds that had shrouded Morytania’s sky all throughout the long winter parted, and a few, tentative rays of pale sunlight fell on the rooftops of Darkmeyer.

                In the city, the mood following the revolution was tense. In the streets patrolled Vanescula’s personal troops, who saw that no conflict broke out between the vyres. In Meiyerditch, a group of trusted humans, appointed by Safalaan, kept order. When spring arrived, they had been promised, those who wished to return to their villages could do so, and for the rest new homes would be constructed. But in the meantime, while first frost and later meltwater made the roads intraversible and the icy northern winds kept ships from sailing, the newly liberated people were growing restless. The Vyrewatch had left the ghetto entirely, while the old walls partitioning the sectors had been torn down. But no matter how much long-separated families rejoiced, and no matter how well Safalaan’s Guard — as they now were called — tried to keep order, some violence was inevitable. Opportunists ransacked empty houses. Old scores were settled in alleyways. It was not uncommon to find former trusties hanging from eaves.

                In the villages, people awaited news of their lost loved ones. At Paterdomus, Misthalinian troops stood guard. All over the country human, vyre, and werewolf alike, whispered two words: _civil war._ The idea and its prospect hung in the air, at the inn at Canifis and the Castle alike, as an entire nation —that so far had never thought of itself as one —held its breath and waited for dawn.

                In all the lands east of Salve, perhaps only one person was unaware of these developments. The antidote had been administered at the last possible moment, and for over a week after the night on the roof, Aileen had remained bedridden, plagued by a high fever and hallucinations. When at last the delirium cleared, she remembered little of the fall of Drakan’s Morytania.

                That day, she had ventured out of her room at the castle for the first time. Craving fresh air and ignoring the objections of the human healers, she had climbed the endless spiral stairs to the roof terrace. It was a cold, crisp day, and seeing that she had the place all to herself, Aileen decided to put it to good use. Even though her quarters were on the upper floors, the ascent had put her out of breath and made her legs quiver. It was time to start reclaiming her old strength, and so she set out to walk along the perimeter, leaning on her old dramenwood staff for support. The pain in her stiff limbs was intense, and in order to ignore it, she focused on the scenery. Far below Mort Myre, streaked with silvery streams, stretched to the horizon where the ever-present haze swallowed it.  In the furthest distance she could imagine the outline of the precipice overlooking Salve. There, she had been told, Vanescula’s army had squared off against the Misthalinians. There Safalaan, in the form of a wyrd, had attacked and killed Drezel, and would have killed her and Ivan had it not been for Efaritay. Most of this Safalaan himself had told her when she had first woken up. Without the fresh wound across her chest, she would have hardly believed him.

                Presently, Aileen realized she was not alone. She had been too lost in thought to notice the footsteps on the stairs, and now it was too late. For a second, her shoulders tensed and her hand reached for the sickle under her fur cloak. Then she heard the newcomer speak, and relaxed once more.

                “They told me you were here,” he said. “I arrived two days ago, but Safalaan said you were too sick to see me.” She turned around to find Veliaf at the head of the stairs. The former Myreque leader had aged terribly in short time, and had finally come to look his years. He had lost weight, and the grey in his hair was overtaking the black. The injuries he had sustained in the attack against Drakan had weakened him permanently, and he now walked with the aid of a cane. He had not, however, given up either his plate armour or the silver-edged blisterwood sickle, nor had his eyes lost any of their old sharpness.

                “I’m not going to hide my weapons, bad form or no,” he said, noticing the way she was eyeing the blade. “I might be a guest rather than a captive, but it never does to give the vyres any ideas. Are you properly armed?”

                “I am, Veliaf,” Aileen replied, patting her cloak. “I simply conceal mine out of courtesy.”

                “Courtesy towards the vyres, of all the damned things under the sun. I’ll carry mine the way I have all along.” By now he had reached her, and they stood side by side at the edge. She had not seen him since they had returned together from the disastrous strike against Drakan, and for all her feeble condition, she longed to hear his story.

                “Well met, Veliaf,” she said, as they turned together to look out to the marshlands. “It is good to see you again.”

                “As it is to see you,” the old man replied. “Although I must admit I am deeply ashamed for my lack of part in the revolution.”

                “If you’ve spoken to Safalaan, you know more about it than I do,” Aileen said, smiling wryly. “He must have mentioned my memory loss. So please, fill me in. Where have you been?”

                “Canifis, mostly.” They had resumed the walk around the perimeter, and had now come to the northern side of the roof. At the foot of the tower spread the woods, black and unknowable. Port Phasmatys, which at night was visible by its eerie glow, had been rendered indiscernible in the daylight. “I travelled around the north and lived in the wild, when I was not staying with old friends or among the wolves. I drowned my sorrows. I waited for the vyres.” Here Veliaf stopped in his tracks, almost speaking to himself. “I thought we were done for. I expected someone at Canifis would sooner or later give away my location to the Watch. I slept with a dagger by my side, a sickle for the bloodsuckers and a dagger for myself.” He resumed walking. “The only reason Drakan killed the others was because he had no options in that that day. His original plan was different. He wanted to capture us alive and convert us publicly, then use us as executioners. _She_ told me.”

                Aileen had little doubt whom Veliaf meant. Although she wanted to know more about the conversation that had taken place between Veliaf and Vanescula, she decided the topic could wait for another day, and pursued another track.

                “And how did you end up here?” she asked, trying to keep her friend from sinking further into his mood.

                “I was summoned,” Veliaf answered. “A few days ago, a pair of human sentinels from the castle showed up in Canifis —they knew where I was, but they were not out to kill me. I followed them here. I have been offered, and I have accepted a position as an advisor to the _council,_ as they call it.” From the way he stressed the word it was plain that he had certain misgivings about Morytania’s new government.

They had now come up to Drakan’s throne.  Someone with a sledgehammer and an old grudge had smashed apart the stylized head atop the seat, leaving the floor around littered with rubble. Far beyond the walls of Darkmeyer, the Eastern Sea glittered in the sun. To the south spread the sprawling ghetto of Meyerditch, rotting where it stood. High up as they were, the wind brought up a trace of its stench.

“Furthermore,” Veliaf continued, “I might be needed in the city. I hear Safalaan’s men are doing a decent job of keeping order in the slums, but it’s still one big barrel of gunpowder. There are people there who have never known freedom, and people who have lost everything they’ve got. If the promised changes don’t happen fast enough —or if there’s any aggression from the vyres —anything can set it off. But people know who I am, and both my name and my sickles still carry some weight among them.”

                                “You’ll be needed there,” Aileen said, voicing her thoughts. Down in Meiyerditch, smoke rose from damaged chimneys and open-air fires. Between the crumbling buildings people passed back and forth like ants.

                “I will be,” Veliaf agreed. Then he remained silent for a while. When he spoke again, it was clear from his tone that what he was saying had weighed on him. “A long time ago,” he started tentatively, “I swore to myself I’d never let them take me to Darkmeyer. When I took to the swamp I didn’t think we’d ever achieve much, but we promised ourselves we would not be tithed again. Even if nothing else came of the Myreque, we’d live free and die free. No-one would ever drink from our necks again. No-one would ever make us hold our bleeding wrists over a jar, waiting for the tither to call halt.” Veliaf paused to search for words, and for a moment he was somewhere far away. “Now look at me,” he continued at last. “I walked here of my own free will, to become an advisor to a council with a Drakan on it.”

                So far, Aileen had been listening but suddenly she felt out of breath. The fever was gone, but underneath the thick fur cloak and the borrowed clothes, she was covered in cold sweat. So, steadying herself with her staff, she sat down near the edge of the roof, and motioned for her companion to do the same. She knew she could walk no further, but had no desire either to return to the room from which no amount of airing would ever erase the smell of vyres. It was relieving to be out in the open air, and listening to Veliaf distracted her from the pain. The sensation of light-headedness had grown unbearable, and she laid back as he sat down beside her. She wanted him to go on talking, and sensed that this was a good moment to ask questions. There had always been a discreet understanding between them that neither one would pry for information on matters the other didn’t bring up first, but this morning all rules seemed to be suspended.

                “Veliaf, she muttered, trying to keep her eyes from closing, “where were you born?”.

                “Vale’s End,” he answered curtly, but not taken aback.

                “Where is that?”

                “It is not,” he replied. “It used to be a small settlement along the Salve, north of the abandoned mines. The vyres burned it down years ago and they made a thorough job of it.”

                “The maze of tall grass west of Mort’ton—“she started.

                “That’s it,” Veliaf finished the sentence. “That’s my village. The paths are our old lanes. The grass grows where the houses stood. Thorough job, like I said. It was one of the last free towns in all of Hallowvale, but some of the people got too open with their resistance. One day, the Watch showed up and encircled the town. They tithed to death all those who surrendered and massacred the rest. Then they torched the place.” His voice was low and flat as he said this. “I was returning from a hunting trip in the swamp, and I hid in the bushes outside the village while it burned. If anyone else made it out alive, I don’t know about it. My wife and children certainly did not.”

                They had known each other for years, but his words were news. As far as Aileen knew, he had always been the leader of the Myreque. He could have as well sprung from the marsh-mist fully-grown.

                “What did you do then,” Aileen asked quietly. Overhead, the glimmering clouds revealed a few streaks of blue. She saw it between half-closed eyelids, and imagined she could feel the sun.

                “I wandered,” Veliaf said. “I wandered for several months, all over the north. I had almost given up on going on living, when I met Safalaan in Port Phasmatys. He and a few others had recently broken out of Meiyerditch, and they had a plan. They wanted to return to the city in order to mount a resistance, and I can say I joined on the spot. We travelled all together for some time, but at the end decided it was too dangerous, and went our separate ways, with some going back to Sanguinesti, while the rest of us took to the Myre. I was the leader, on the account of my knowledge of the region and the short time I had spent in the Vale’s End militia. We lived off the swamp for years, moving from base to base, and meeting with the other chapter when it was possible. A few men we lost to the ghasts and the patrols, but others joined in as well. Radigad came to Morytania as a mercenary, but agreed to stay with us because of a personal grudge. Then I ran into little Sani Piliu at Canifis, and persuaded her to come with me. And finally, Ivan was brought to us. The people who accompanied him were not his parents, but I think they knew who he was, and that he had to be kept safe. He was all of eleven years old. And so we all lived like that together until —“

                “Until I showed up,” Aileen finished.

                “Vanstrom had been following us for some time,” Veliaf said. “At the time, we were hardly a threat. I believe he was mostly after Safalaan.” Aileen swallowed hard. During their conversation, Safalaan Hallow had calmly explained to her the significance Ivan’s lineage, and then the true identity of the man she had known as Vanstrom Klause.

                “The revolution would not have been possible with him in the way,” Veliaf concluded, and his words echoed those of Safalaan. “What is done is done.”

                “What of Ivan?” Aileen asked, wanting to change the subject quickly. She recognized the truth in his words, but did not want to dwell on the matter of Ascertes.

                “He’s now the caretaker of Paterdomus, the way he was meant to be.” There was a touch of pride in Veliaf’s voice. “He will look after the temple and make sure the blessing on the river keeps, in case a war breaks out.” It was the first time she had heard anyone mention the prospect of a civil war directly. Safalaan, Sarius and even Efaritay herself had merely talked of “unrest”, but it was a relief to hear the words spoken plainly. Aileen wanted to ask what he thought of the situation, but before she could open her mouth, someone else spoke behind them.

                “I believe I heard my name mentioned,” said a man’s voice softly. Aileen sat up rreflexively, provoking a fresh wave of violent nausea. Veliaf sprung on his feet, as far as such a word could be used about a man who walked with a cane.

Standing by the stairwell was a sandy-haired young man whose dusty travel cloak was thrown aside to reveal the brown robes of a priest of Saradomin.

“I was told you would both be here,” he said, smiling. “Well met, friends.”

                “Ivan!” Veliaf exclaimed, and strode over to him, gripping the younger man in a bear-like hug. In a few seconds he retreated however, bent double by a fit of coughing. “You’re stronger than you look and older than I think, boy,” he said, straightening his back, but sounded pleased.

                “You are older than you think as well, Veliaf,” Ivan replied, laughing. “It is good to see you alive.” For a moment, Veliaf went quiet, and Aileen realized that the two of them had not seen each other since Drakan’s death either. To break the silence, she chipped in:

                “Ivan, well met,” she said. “We thought you were at Paterdomus.”

                “I was there,” the young priest explained, “but I was summoned this morning to discuss security with the council.”

                “This morning,” she asked, confused. “Is there a teleportation station in the city?”

                “Not yet, as far as I know,” Ivan said. “I flew here. Or rather, Vanescula flew here carrying me.” At these words, Veliaf’s smile turned into a scowl.

                “You let that animal carry you?” he asked reproachfully. “What do you think would have stopped her from dropping you to your death?”

                “Honour,” Ivan answered briefly. “Common sense. She has both, Veliaf, even if you don’t wish to acknowledge that. Although she did admit that the reason she picked me up herself was because she did not trust any other vyre to not have a mid-air accident with me.”

                “Some common sense,” Veliaf muttered but did not press the subject further. “It is good to have you here, Ivan.”

                “It is good to be here,” Ivan replied. “But now I shall leave you, I need to get cleaned up and prepare for this evenings meeting. I believe I will see you both there.”

                “You will,” Aileen said. “I’m strong enough now.” This was only half true. As soon as their friend had disappeared down the spiral stairs, she laid back on the rooftop tiles and let her eyes fall shut. Light shone faintly through them, and in seconds bright, jagged shapes filled her field of vision, abstract shapes that quickly came to resemble teeth and eyes, while the rush of blood in her ears turned into a growl — _“She will betray you…before the end…she will betray you, betray you, betray you_ —“

                “Aileen.” A hand was holding hers, and it seemed to pull her out and back into the real world. The afterimages were fading, and the reek of old blood and predators was gone. The only sound she heard was the rapid beating of her own heart.

                “I over-estimated my own strength,” she muttered. “I was feeling better already.”

                “Wyrd-poison is potent,” Veliaf said. “It is a long time before the after-effects will clear. You’re lucky to be alive, don’t forget that.” He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back until her heart settled again.

                “Did you really think Vanescula would have killed Ivan?” she asked after a while.

                “I fathered two children, but didn’t see them grow to adulthood,” Veliaf replied. “I was a father to two others, but only one of them made it out of the Myre alive. So forgive me if I’m protective of him, and forgive me if would rather not see him hauled around by vyres.” Aileen said nothing, but contented herself with interlinking their fingers. He seemed to get the message. They stayed like that for some time, neither one of them speaking, and the only sound was the wind in the spires.

                “Do you know what the council meeting will be about?” She said at last.

                “A lot of things,” he answered. “I don’t know much yet, only what Safalaan told me last night. The biggest problem at the moment is food. They’re going to change back vyres by the thousands, when Morytania can barely feed its current human population. There is a plan to drain large parts of Mort Myre for fields and pasture, but that will take years, and in the meantime we will depend on imported grain.”

                “Misthalin sells all of its leftovers to Al-Kharid,” Aileen recollected. “Kandarin is in too much turmoil right now. Your best hope is Asgarnia.” She still felt shaky, but found that talking helped.

                “I know nothing about that,” Veliaf said. “You forget I have never been out of Morytania. But I heard someone mention co-operation with Misthalin and Al-Kharid.”

                “I see,” was all Aileen could manage. She tried to sit up, but only managed to rise on her elbows. “What else? Ivan mentioned security concerns.”

                “Food is a security concern. You starve people long enough, they riot. But apart from that, there is the matter of the werewolves. They’re the only ones left out of the council, and though I have little love for their kind, I consider it a grave mistake. They have their own grudges against the vampyres, and as their numbers and power dwindle, there is little to prevent the wolves from extracting vengeance.”

                “That is true,” Aileen conceded. “I don’t know why they have been looked over in that way.”

                “Out of habit,” Veliaf said. “But we can’t afford that anymore. Things are bad enough as it is, and we can’t leave anyone out of the process.” He seemed to think for a while, and then let out a short laugh. “Listen to me, will you,” he said. “I’m beginning to sound like a politician.”

                “What you are saying needs to be said,” she replied, finally rising to sitting position. “And after that, it needs to be repeated until something is done.” Whatever happened, Aileen thought absent-mindedly, she hoped it would not require her participation. She felt her time in Morytania was up, and now she wanted to leave the country’s fate to its own people. It was a sudden, acute thought, and for a moment she stared at the mists over Salve, and tried to picture the fields beyond. Then she forced herself back to the present, and pressed her hands on the ground to get up.

                Her legs were still unsteady, and she had to be supported by Veliaf to get on her feet. “I think I’ll have a rest,” she said. “I don’t know how much of my input is expected at the meeting, but I’d much prefer not to faint in the middle of it.”

                “You are right,” he answered. “I think I need one myself.” A last spasm of nausea hit through her, but she held on to his arm tightly.

                “What do you think,” she asked, trying to will the rising bile down. “How is it going to be?”

                “I don’t know,” he replied, “only time will tell. But I have a good feeling about this, and I’m hardly known for that.” And with those words he linked their arms, and together they started the long descent down the endless spiral stairs.

             


End file.
